Quick Fucks From a Near Sweep

Well, Sunday ended with a whimper, so now it's time for a typically un-quick installment of Quick Fucks about the weekend that was.

Figure it the Fuck Out!
Vernon Wells, after switching to a lighter bat and appearing to start getting himself back on track with a fantastic Saturday at the plate, did what's become painfully typical of him this season and followed the potential breakout game with a steaming turd.

Sunday he was 1-4 with three strikeouts, after finally powering his 6th home run the day before. To give you some perspective on how abysmal Vernon's power numbers have been, on Sunday night Stray-Rod hit his league-leading 27th.

I'm sure nobody is as nearly frustrated about this as Vernon, but, well... goddamn it, we're getting close.

Figuring it the Fuck Out?
Frank Thomas hit his 496th career home run on Sunday, breaking Edgar Martinez's pointless record for most homers while playing DH.

Frank's swing seems to finally be waking up, Clearly he's seeing the ball well, because he's walking so much. It was only ever going to be a matter of time before his hands started catching up with his eyes. Hopefully we've reached that point-- though it would be nice to maybe see him get a hit with actual base-runners on.

All Pancakes and No Heart
I didn't get in from a Friday night of partying until probably 6:30 Saturday morning. The sun was coming up, whenever the fuck it was.

Normally that would have no effect my baseball viewing, but the plan was to have some brunch with my mom and sister at some point first, and then head down to the ball game. After a couple of coffees and some impossibly delicious blueberry pancakes, I decided that I wasn't quite "feeling" the baseball game and those shitty plastic swamp-ass-causing seats and expensive beers.

It was a moment of weakness, for sure, but it did allow me to listen to the game on the radio while lounging in one of the chairs on my deck that were formerly owned by Red Sox fans from Cape Cod...

Radio is a Sad Salvation
Yeah, I own a TV, and yeah, I have cable... but I really wasn't "feeling" TV on Saturday either (or, possibly, I just couldn't keep my eyes open). You don't really lose much when listening to the game on the radio, and compared to what you gain by not having to hear Jamie Campbell, it's beyond worthwhile.

That's especially so when Jerry Howarth starts rolling out the gems-- and especially especially so when his inner dirty old man makes a glorious appearance for all to see.

Like when he had this to say about a fan who caught a foul ball, and his wife, in the 8th inning of Saturday's game: "That's how you do it with a couple of bare hands. He made a real nice catch there. And it looks like he made a nice catch years ago, as well. He's two for two."

You dog, Jerry!

Gibbons is the Awesome
Once again, I feel like I've been validated.

This time it's regarding my outrage towards (supposed) Jays fans who are ready to send Gibbers packing.

No, I'm not going to argue about his managerial decisions, because frankly I find that's of little consequence. The important thing is, obviously Gibbers is a king hell of a guy-- and not only simply because he's nails enough to have a Pontiac dealership in Chatham named after him, and man enough to let it use purple in its logo and not even give a shit.

Asked about the Father's Day John Gibbons Tie giveaway, he said that he "can't remember the last time" he wore a tie. "I put on a sport coat. Like putting earrings on a pig."

Pinella Not a Jay, Still Awesome
I'm pretty sure the converation that was on the main page of the Dugout as of this afternoon was pretty fucking hilarious. Of course, I have a total soft spot for inventive swearing and pretend misogeny...